I glimmer in the sun, my reflection
beams into the eyes that glaze
upon me. When I'm broken, my
shards can cut.
Deadly.
Smithereens of dust blowing
in the wind can catch and leave
a nasty mark. Scars can be left.
My blades can damage and pierce
and wound and break.
Wounded.
Like knife through butter.
Like the words you stutter.
I flow my edges like water
in the streams and rivers.
Glass.
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Author:
Eli (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 9th, 2019 20:00
- Comment from author about the poem: Glass can leave a nasty mark. So can others...
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 53
- Users favorite of this poem: Mason, JaydeVictoria.
Offline)
Comments1
What an amazing write...the metaphor is spot on.
Faved!
Thankyou 🙂
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